Maggie's Home For Wayward Children
by reductomaxima
Summary: Jack was a last-minute babysitter when Harry was seven - he was a little rough around the edges, a little intimidating, and yet, with one look at him, he could see what everyone else had looked away from. And then there was Eliza, and the others. Harry's life was definitely turned upside down - and so was the fate of the wizarding world.
1. prologue i

It started small, as most things do.

Elizabeth had come across a teenage boy in the gutter outside the office where she worked, and without a second thought she'd knelt beside him and offered him her lunch - it was her second nature to help people, and she had a soft spot for children. He talked to her - he told her of his little sister, his abusive mother, his father who'd given up everything to help him and his little sister find a new home. His sister had been snatched up right away, adopted into a beautiful family with a picket fence and a golden retriever, but the boy was a teenager, and in the eyes of the law he could fend for himself. He was old enough to work, old enough to live on his own, make his own decisions - and that meant he was immediately ready to step out into the world in the eyes of the people who were supposed to care for him.

She'd been outraged. He'd sat there listening to her rant and rave about it for ten minutes, and by that time, when he'd calmed her down and eaten her chicken and lettuce sandwiches with all the elegance of a teenage boy who hadn't had a proper meal in three months, she'd already realised she was late for work. She didn't care, and instead offered to let him use her shower and spend the night in her spare room, because it was no trouble, and she had plenty of room.

The boy, Jack, agreed after a little persuading. He was worried about him being a bother, but she'd finally hooked him in with a comment of how bothered she would be if she was constantly worried about him. He'd gone with her for the purpose of keeping her sleep sound, and that was something special.

Jack stayed with her for a number of weeks, which turned into a number of months, which turned into a year and a half, and she helped him finish school and find a wonderful job he liked and paid well enough to support himself.

She cried for hours when he finally moved out, and he still came back every week for Sunday dinner, and she visited him on holidays. When Jack found a girl, he introduced her as his mother, and that made her feel so much better about herself.

After that, she picked up strays here and there. She helped them get back on her feet, and she came to a point when she'd have nine at a time living in her house, sleeping in blanket forts in the living room and in the spare bedroom, and when she'd admitted to her grandmother that she was having trouble finding the room for all of the people, she'd felt much better about it afterwards.

" - why don't you just stop?" asked her grandmother, Margaret, primly pouring her another warm mug of hot tea. "Help the kids you have living with you now, and then find a man who can provide for you! You don't have to work yourself to death over _children."_

"I'm not going to stop, Grandma," Elizabeth rolled her eyes, sipping her tea. "Those kids need me, and I'm not leaving them behind in the streets. If you saw some of the things I do from those kids - the places they 'live', the people they call family, the way that they come to me. The only thing I need from _anyone_ , let alone a man, is a place to help them, because obviously my flat isn't big enough - "

"You know, Eliza, my husband is close to passing," her grandmother cut her off.

She watched her grandmother carefully. Of course she knew this. Her grandfather was a very ill man, and she'd grown up watching her grandmother and her parents tirelessly care for him, take him to the hospital, feed him, bathe him, clothe him, care for him every day she'd been growing. It was something as familiar to her as breathing, and she witnessed every moment of his struggle. She knew that he didn't have long left, he'd fought for more than ninety years, and that was something now, considering that most died before they were sixty with the illness he was suffering.

But she didn't know what that had to do with her housing problem.

"I'm not going to be far behind," Margaret continued. Eliza opened her mouth to protest, knowing her grandmother was a fighter, and she'd always thought she was invincible when she was growing up. "Oh be quiet, I'm trying to say something sweet and you won't let me."

Eliza clamped her mouth shut, biting back her indignant protests.

"My father left me his manor when he died," said her grandmother loftily. "I'd hate to see it go empty. I'm not going to live there alone, in fact I'm aware that your mother has plans to move me in with her and your father. Elizabeth, _you_ are my only grandchild, and if you're this passionate about helping those children, I'm going to help you. When your grandfather... _leaves_ us, I want you to take those kids and move into the manor."

Her mouth formed an 'o', and tears sprung to her eyes. "Oh, Grandma, you are a saint," she breathed, moving closer and wrapping her arms around the elderly woman.

"Get a hold of yourself," Margaret said sharply, though her eyes glittered with amusement. "Pull yourself together, woman."

It wasn't long after that very conversation that her mother called her in the middle of the night.

Elizabeth had been sleeping when a small girl, only about five, wide-eyed and dark-haired, ran into the bedroom, the phone in her hands and a stuffed dog tucked underneath her arm.

"What is it, baby?" she'd asked sleepily, holding out one arm for the little girl. "Did you have a nightmare, sweetheart?"

"No, Lizzie," the little girl, Ariane, replied in a sing-song voice. "There's somebody on the phone. She says she's your Mama, and that is very _ur-gent."_

Sitting up and pulling Ariane into her lap, Elizabeth held the phone to her ear.

When it slipped from her fingers, without a word Ariane buried her face in Eliza's shoulder, clinging to her tightly, offering what semblance of comfort a little girl could offer. Eliza pulled her closer, hanging up the phone, and before she could fight them back for the sake of preserving the little girl's innocence, her tears fell, quick and unheeded. It was five minutes later when Ariane pulled back slightly, reached up with her stubby, short fingers and wiped the tears away, holding up her stuffed dog with her other hand, smiling toothily in only the way a small child can.

"Thanks, Ari," Eliza whispered, pulling the girl close. "Thank you, love."

It was only a few months later when the manor was finished being decorated. A nursery had been added, as well as a playroom filled with toys, and many of the more extravagant rooms had been transformed from their former glory (which probably would have fitted better in an episode of _Downton Abbey_ better than it did in a makeshift orphanage) into several guest rooms. When the manor was finished, it retained its beauty on the outside, but on the inside, it was something that Elizabeth and the children in her care were proud to call their home.

The manor housed nine bathrooms, fifteen bedrooms, a large kitchen, an even bigger living room, a dining room that was long enough and wide enough to seat every person who'd ever lived in the house, a playroom, a nursery for the toddlers who were brought into her care, a small theatre room for movie nights with seating enough for all of them, and a number of corridors that served as a maze for the children to explore, lined with paintings and pictures by and of the number of kids who'd been in and out of her care.

Outside, there was a large football pitch, a running track, a swimming pool, a large patio, a wraparound porch, a lake and a small boat shack. The children were shocked to learn that Margaret, who lived in a small flat and barely had enough room to breathe with nine kids in the house (though almost no one did), came from a well off family, and only didn't already live in the manor because she wanted to fend for herself.

But she didn't want to fend for herself anymore. She wanted to fend for other people, and now she had the means to do it.


	2. prologue ii

Harry was often left at home whenever his aunt, uncle and cousin left the house.

At first, his aunt came up with excuses as to why he couldn't come, but his curiosity seemed to grow with his age, and when he badgered her about it, she would often just tell him bluntly that he was a freak, and she wouldn't want him messing up their family's perfect evening together. Harry had heard it so many times that he'd gotten used to it, but at first, it had hurt his chest every time she'd said it, and he'd often watch them leave glumly through the front window, trapped inside with their elderly neighbour Mrs Carmichael or the woman down the road, Mrs Figg, who smelt like cabbage and her cats.

But whenever he was home without the Dursleys, depending on who he was left with, Harry would get free run of the house. He could watch television, take long, steaming baths compared to the short, cold ones he was allowed, sneak out of his room at night for snacks, was fed nice meals and was allowed to play with some of his cousin's toys. If they left during the day he was allowed to go out and play at the park, and even though he played alone, he loved jumping off the swings and seeing how far away he could land from the swingset.

" - boy! Get out here! We're leaving!"

Harry left the cupboard, frowning a little bit, unable to keep the disgust from his features at his cousin, sporting a dark maroon suit jacket, black slacks and a bright orange bow tie. His uncle was wearing a similar ensemble, but for all of his love for his son, he wouldn't and couldn't be persuaded to wear the same ghastly colours, so he wore a simple black suit. His aunt, meanwhile, was in her favourite salmon dress, which was covered with ruffles and flowers and bows.

It took much of his self control not to laugh at the sight of them together.

His uncle knelt down in front of him, struggling over his large stomach, and pointed his fat finger in Harry's face.

"We're not coming home to a pile of ash," Uncle Vernon snapped. "If so much as a stain is left on our new sofa, it's a month in the cupboard for you, boy. If one of my son's toys has been moved, you're going a week without your bread and butter, and if I hear a word from Jack about how horrible you'll be, you're doing double the chores for the rest of the year, boy."

Harry nodded mutely. If he spoke, the lecture would double in length, and he'd heard it so many times that he didn't need to hear it to remember it off the top of his head. He did, despite himself, wonder who Jack was, but assumed it was his new babysitter.

"Alright, boy, we'll be back at around one," Aunt Petunia said quietly as Uncle Vernon left the room. "There's some food in the fridge. Um, if you - I wouldn't mention it to Vernon if you took a little of last night's leftovers," she added quietly, and Harry nodded again, looking at his shoes.

He knew that his aunt wasn't necessarily as awful as his uncle. She was just weak and bent to his will, and gave into his constant rantings and ravings about having to provide for another mouth, about how his parents would have loved for him to be landed with them just so they could continue their lives of drinking and recklessness, and how much he hated Harry. Aunt Petunia often told Harry how smug and pretentious his mother was, and how his father was arrogant and conned people effortlessly, but Harry often wondered if those were just stories of his uncle's, meaning for him to feel worse about himself because of who his parents were.

And he did.

Of course, he couldn't change or help who his parents were, or what they were, or how they died. Harry knew that. But often he wondered if he would turn out to be a drunk like them, if he would die young and leave behind his child, if he would repeat a cycle that no person should ever have to suffer?

Because yes, he knew that the way he was treated was not normal. Up until his first year at school, Harry had no idea what his name was, and instead responded to the words 'freak' and 'boy'. But after he'd started to go to school, life didn't get much better. He realised that no one else was suffering the same treatment he was, and that the other kids would never show up to school in their cousin's oversized clothes or wear broken glasses or sleep in a cupboard.

He knew that he was alone, that this was something no one else had suffered. That no one would understand. That no one would help him.

For years, he'd dreamt that a distant relative would show up to the front door, complete with adoption papers, and whisk him off into a lifetime of adventure and love and fun. In his cupboard, Harry would dream of messy black hair just like his own, warm emerald eyes staring at him with love and affection, shaggy dark hair, barked laughter, warm, long hugs and kind amber eyes. He would dream of soft, comforting words, strong arms to hold him, scarred faces with kindness buried underneath the sallow skin.

He wanted to turn back the clock. To tell his parents not to drink, to help them get better, to teach them how to take care of a child, to stop them from driving that night. Harry wanted to find a family that wouldn't treat him like this.

But whatever he wanted, this was what he had. And there was no changing that.

The moment the door slammed shut behind his family, Harry turned to the living room, and spotted someone sitting on the sofa. That someone was watching him with thinly veiled curiosity, and instead of talk to this person (which he'd tried before, and he'd always ended up being reported to his uncle and aunt later that night), he went to turn back into his cupboard.

"Hey, you're Harry, right?"

Harry turned around, surprise on his features.

The person stood up. He was tall, broad-shouldered and thin-faced. He had messy brown hair and dark blue eyes, a crooked smile on his face. Harry nodded slowly.

"I'm Jack," he said, holding out his hand. When Harry shook it, Jack's grin widened, and before he knew it, Jack had pulled him into a tight, firm hug.

His arms felt warm. They were kind of soft, too, when Harry slowly, cautiously moved into his grip, wrapping his small arms around his neck and hugging him back, hesitation clear in every moment he made. His heart thudded at the tightening of Jack's grip, and the way that he could hear the teeth grinding next to his head, but after a moment, when Jack pulled back, his jaw clenched, the only thing that he could see in the older boy's face was concern.

"How often do they feed you, Harry?" he asked quietly, and raised a hand to his ribs.

"They fed me earlier," Harry muttered quietly. "My family are nice people. They feed me often. I am happy. I am safe."

Jack's face flashed with anger, but somehow, despite what he'd been through, Harry couldn't find it in himself to be afraid. There was something soft about Jack, a kind of familiar warmth that he couldn't find it him to be afraid of.

"Whatever they've told you to say, I don't care," Jack said firmly. "I don't care what they want you to say to me, Harry. I want you to be truthful with me, and if you don't want to, that's tough. I can't help you, and I can't get you somewhere nice and safe and warm, if you don't tell me the truth about what's happening to you here. Tell me the truth, Harry."

It took one glance into the firm kind of strength in Jack's eyes for Harry to crumble.

"I had some bread and butter earlier," Harry said faintly.

"How much earlier?" Jack demanded, eyes blazing.

"Around one o'clock," Harry replied.

Jack's jaw clenched tighter and his eyes slid shut, and Jack reached up to clap him on both shoulders. Harry tried not to let his knees buckle at the sudden weight on his shoulders.

When Jack opened his eyes, there was something hopeful there. There was something there that made something claw at Harry's own heart, and for the first time hope ripped through him with reckless abandon, and it was all consuming, and his heart thudded painfully against his ribcage.

"Do you want something to eat now, Harry?" Jack asked kindly, standing up and holding out his hands. "We can talk more while you're eating."

Harry nodded eagerly and took Jack's outstretched hand, and allowed the older boy to lead him into the kitchen.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry was sitting at the comfiest chair in the kitchen, eating perhaps the tastiest sandwich that he'd ever eaten, listening to Jack telling him about what seemed like the best place on Earth.

" - and there's a big garden, and a wraparound porch, and their own little playground, with swings, slides and climbing frames. There's a sandbox, and a lake, and boats you can learn to row and drive, and a swimming pool, and they have barbeques every week when the weather's nice. There are enough rooms to house a hundred people, and the TV is huge! The kitchen is the busiest place in there, but there's a music room, a painting room, an indoor gym, a big room of paintings and pictures of the people and by the people who've grown up there."

Jack grinned, even now when he was talking about it, and Harry thought for a moment that the boy had been there before.

Harry wondered if he would ever get to see it.

"And the best thing about it is the people there," Jack continued, and Harry perked up. He'd hate for the people there to have been horrible, for them to never use it, for there to be no children to appreciate how fun the back garden sounded, for the weekly barbeques to be for elderly people who drank wine and talked about how it used to be when they were kids.

"The woman who runs it - her name is Eliza, and she's the most beautiful woman in the world," Jack said. Harry closed his eyes. He pictured curly red hair, bright green eyes, pale skin, freckles, short, soft fingers, sweet, youthful smiles, a musical voice and warm hugs. "She's small, a little skinny, but that's from running around after the kids all hours of the day. She picks up kids from the streets, helps them find a home, and if she can't they stay there with her. If they stay there, it's not exactly legal, but it's fun and warm and familiar, and no matter how many people are looking for it, it's the best place on Earth, and it's worth it to get a taste of the place."

Harry blinked curiously. "Why isn't it legal?" he asked, tilting his head. "Isn't it the best place on Earth?"

Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Eliza helps people, but they're supposed to be with their family, not with her," he explained quietly, and the young boy blinked. "But sometimes families, like yours, aren't nice to the kids there, or the kids live on their in the streets, and Eliza picks them up. She doesn't treat them badly, she feeds them good, warm food, and if you're lucky enough to spend the night, she wakes you up with a mouth-watering breakfast and a morning of mucking around in the lake on weekends."

"That sounds wonderful," Harry said quietly.

Oh, how he wanted to be there.

"I was hoping you would say that, Harry," Jack grinned crookedly, handing him the other half of his sandwich. "Because I want you to come with me this weekend and visit Eliza with me."

Harry beamed at him, bouncing up and down in his seat, his heart filled with hope and wonder at the thought of it. He couldn't find it in himself to stop nodding.

For the rest of the night, Jack let him watch whatever he wanted on TV. He baked them some cookies and made enough sandwiches to last the week, and stowed them away, wrapped in cling foil, in the back of Harry's cupboard, underneath a pile of blankets so that, should his uncle or aunt look, no one aside from the two of them could find them. He stole a few of Dudley's toys from the back of his cousin's cupboard, fixed some of the broken ones, and left them underneath the pillow in his cupboard, and Harry tried desperately to hide the tears that fell fast from his eyes.

"No one's ever been this nice to me," he blubbered, and Jack was sitting on the stairs, holding him tightly. Harry had never felt safer.

"Well, that's going to change," Jack said fiercely, pushing his hair off his face. "Now, your aunt and uncle are going to be here in about ten minutes, okay? I want you to help me tell them that I'm taking you bowling and a sleepover for my little sister's birthday party this weekend, and that you'll be back by nine o'clock. I'll come and get you on Saturday morning, and you can spend the weekend at the house with me and Eliza and the other kids, okay?"

Harry nodded, wiping his tears, and Jack sighed, hugging him tighter.

"Lay low for the week," Jack added after a moment. "But I want you to tell me and Eliza how they treat you on Saturday."

Harry swallowed. The thought of telling _someone else_ , another _random stranger_ , something so _serious_ made him want to throw up -

" - she's wonderful, and she'll never judge you, Harry," Jack said firmly.

And when Jack left that night and his uncle told him tiredly to go to his cupboard, Harry lay in his bed, wide awake, the biggest smile he'd ever worn almost splitting his face in two.

He didn't think he could make it if this was a joke. If Jack didn't turn up on Saturday morning. If the house was just a dream.


	3. prologue iii

Eliza was awake at three o'clock on Saturday morning.

When Jack had come to her house at two on a Tuesday morning, ranting and raving, shouting so loud that he woke up half of the household, about a little boy who he'd offered to babysit down in Little Whinging while he was visiting his girlfriend for the week, she'd been surprised. Jack had seen some of the worst cases of child abuse or neglect that had come across her lap, and helped the children who'd suffered through their pain and nightmares. He'd replaced the sheets on their beds after particularly restless nights, held them while they cried, listened to them when they needed him to, treated them like they were _people_ when the other children walked on eggshells around them. He knew how to deal with people like this, how to help them, and for him to still react like this proved to her that Jack was one of a kind, and made him all the more proud of the young man she'd raised.

To still worry so much about a child's suffering after the things he'd seen was truly remarkable. But then again, with all the faces and personalities she saw every day, she thought everyone in her care was remarkable.

"He's coming here on Saturday through Sunday," Jack had finally told her, slumping into the kitchen chair. "I told his aunt and uncle he was coming to a little sister's birthday sleepover."

Eliza had been anticipating the visit ever since.

She'd decided against making a big deal of it. She knew that some children, after being treated like shit for so long, reacted badly to the sudden welcoming and hero worship, and she would rather she didn't trigger a panic attack the moment that she met him, because he'd associate the panic and pain with the house, and her, and the other people inside, and that was the last thing they needed.

Instead, she decided she'd do some cookies that morning. She'd make a bigger breakfast than usual, set some aside for Harry, and then she'd move on to cooking, cleaning and baking, to make sure he saw the best of the house and herself and the family within.

" - and you all need to treat him like a new friend, alright?" she said firmly when the entire household had woken up, her hands on her hips, a scowl on her face. "He's going to be one of the youngest of the bunch, and before we introduce him to the life, we need to make him feel at home here, and get to know him well enough to know that he won't report us, or run away when he finds out how we survive out here."

When nods all around the table followed her words, she sighed in relief and slumped into the counter top, pressing her hands over her face.

"You're really worried about this kid aren't you?" asked Edward, more commonly nicknamed Ed, who had turned eight in that March.

Eliza looked up, lips drawing into a thinner line, not in irritation but in thought.

"Don't stress," Ariane, now seven, advised with a sweet smile, "be happy."

"Yeah, he can't be as difficult as Luke," Jack teased, smirking, and Luke, nine, glared at him.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

When she'd first begun to do what she did - however she would describe it - she had been terrified. When she'd found Jack, she was only nine years older than him, and honestly, parenting someone a little younger than she was compared to an infant had been a strange and petrifying difference - Jack already knew right from wrong, already understood how to care for himself and how to do things that most humans could do. But raising children was harder than all the books she'd hired from the library had told her, harder than all the websites in the world could advise her on.

Because no book, no website, could tell her _just why_ Maxie was crying in the middle of the night. No book could tell her why Pippa went quiet sometimes and didn't say anything for a while. No Agony Aunt could tell her why she'd sometimes have to drag Luke off to bed, because he hated sleeping in the dark and slept out on the couch in the living room. No one she'd asked could explain why Natalie was fussy whenever she was put down by anyone, and why whenever Michael spotted a fireplace he couldn't quite tear his eyes away.

Those were things she had to figure out for herself. Raising kids who were a little messed up, a little broken and a little confused, was harder than raising them from birth, because she had no idea what they'd been through, no way to reach them without breaking down everything they knew.

All she could do was her best. She wasn't a born mother, and because of her own questionable childhood she had no idea how normal mothers should be. But then again, she was a witch. There was nothing in her world that was really normal.

And no matter how messed up any of them were, no matter how messed up Harry might be, there was no way she was giving in. She might not have been mother of the year, but she was a mother more than she was a witch, a mother more than she was a human. Eliza's primary job in the world was to protect children, protect hers, and she would, with everything that she had.

Besides, the boys in the household were rather outnumbered. Maybe a new challenge would benefit them all.

* * *

The car appeared outside the front of Privet Drive at eleven o'clock that morning.

Harry had been wide awake and waiting since three. At the sight of the unfamiliar car, dark blue and small, and the grinning face of the boy within, Harry had felt himself fill with the happiness he'd been suppressing all week. When he'd woken up on that first morning, he'd thought for certain that it had been a cruel dream of his, a fantasy, and until he felt the hard figures of the toys pressing into the back of his head beneath his pillow and smelled the warmth of the cookies that Jack had baked him the night before, he'd been filled with such desolate, all-consuming misery that even his oblivious, stupid cousin had noticed something was wrong that morning.

He'd been sitting on the stairs since three o'clock that morning. He hadn't slept, wide awake with anticipation and excitement, and when ten o'clock had come and gone, along with half ten, quarter to eleven and ten to eleven, his heart had sunk lower and lower in his chest. His cousin had kicked him on the way down the stairs, his uncle had thrust a list of chores under his nose and his aunt had barked at him to make breakfast, but he'd done all of it silently, peering at the door every so often, and none of it had made him feel worse than the thought that it could have been a dream after all.

The doorbell rang not a minute later, and when the door opened, Harry crashed through it, hugging Jack so tightly around the waist that the teenager stumbled backwards. Harry's smile blinded the older boy when he pulled away.

"When can we go?" Harry asked urgently, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Your carriage awaits, good sir," Jack bowed at the waist, gesturing for the car, a grin on his face.

Harry shot into the car and belted himself up before Jack even got into the car on the other side. Jack started the car and pulled away before Aunt Petunia slammed the door shut, and Harry couldn't even find it inside himself to be worried or upset when his uncle started shouting at the back of the moving car.

"How far away is the house?" asked Harry, wide-eyed, beaming.

"About half an hour," Jack said, smiling at Harry's obvious excitement. "It's not far, Harry, I promise."

The half an hour passed with constant questions about the house, Eliza, and the kids within.

Jack told him stories of Maxie, who was the oldest at that moment, at eleven years old, who was a little quiet at first, but was very pretty and very sweet; he told him about the four children who were best friends, Michael, Lucas, Pippa and Edward, who were inseparable, mischievous and a little overzealous, but who would be nice to him; he told him about Ariane, who was the same age as him, who had beautiful curly hair and liked to read and cloud gaze; he told him about Levi, who was a year younger than him, who liked to spend a lot of time outside and was an excellent swimmer; and about Natalie, who was only three, but was very friendly and very generous, and liked to throw her food sometimes.

About how they would accept him with open arms and the smell of home cooking.

The thought of that made his chest warm. Harry felt like he was on fire when he left the car and looked up at the house.

It was just as beautiful as Jack had said. The walls were dark tiled on the bottom, but on each storey, it lightened until the fourth and final floor was whitewashed and beautifully untouched. The wraparound porch was white, the deck was light wood and the furniture was dark and wooden, laden with cushions and pillows and blankets. The barbeque was well-used but clean, and past the decking was a large outdoor swimming pool, complete with a diving board. There was a lake on the edge of the property, and there was a small island in the middle. A willow tree was weeping leaves onto the water. Harry thought he saw a swing set attached to the tree, along with a tree house in the upper branches, but he couldn't be sure from this distance.

The moment that Jack led him up the steps, which creaked with use and heavy footsteps, Harry felt his heart rise into his throat. He had no idea if the people inside were as wonderful as Jack had said. He didn't know Jack. What if no one lived here? What if Jack was lying?

For a moment, he was convinced it was a mistake, until the door opened and a little girl, bouncing strawberry curls in a high ponytail on the top of her head, a stuffed dog in her grip and a blue dress on her body, complete with white sneakers and a beaming smile, moved onto the decking and jumped into Jack's arms.

Behind her, a warm light seemed to drench the deck in light. Harry itched to go inside and see everything within.

"Uncle Jack!" Ariane beamed, tightening her grip on Jack's neck, clutching him.

"Hey, Ari," Jack laughed, supporting her on his hip and settling her stuffed dog between them. "How you doin', pup?"

"I'm not a puppy, Jackie," Ariane poked his nose. "Snuffles is a puppy, silly! I'm a little girl!"

"So you are!" Jack said, faking shock, and Harry couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips.

Ariane wriggled to be put down, turned around and looked at him. Her brown eyes scanned his face, and then her smile spread wider over her face and she moved forward and hugged him tightly. Harry blinked owlishly at Jack over her shoulder, but when she showed no signs of releasing him and Jack showed no signs of moving the girl, Harry reached around her and hugged her back. He felt his heart race and then slow when she tightened her grip, and the big smile on her face seemed to widen still when his arms wrapped around her waist to hug her tightly.

"It's nice to meet you," she said brightly, slowly, as if she'd heard other people saying it and copied it only a few times. "I'm Ariane, and I'm seven."

"It's nice to meet you, too," Harry echoed faintly as she finally pulled away. "I'm Harry."

Ariane beamed at him as she released him. "Let's go inside and see the others, 'kay?" she asked, but she might as well not have said anything, because she pulled him into the house a second later, without hearing the response on his lips.

" - Lizzie! Lizzie, Harry's here!"

Harry's mouth dropped open when he was pulled into the kitchen. The table was set with plate after plate of bacon, eggs and toast, and there was the smell of baking in the air - a smell he remembered from earlier in the week. Cookies, brownies, and a large blue cake sat on the counter, freshly made and iced, and Harry's mouth watered. He hadn't had breakfast that morning - he hadn't even thought about it through his anxiety - and it was settling deep in his stomach.

But what really made his head feel a little light was the woman standing in the doorway.

She was tall compared to him, thin, with windswept brown hair that was pinned up in a messy bun on the top of the back of her head with white flower hair clips; there was a necklace made of corks wrapped around her neck (probably made by one of the children in her care, he thought). Her eyes were a warm green, and when she looked down at him, there was something soft and welcoming there that made his chest feel tight and warm at the same time.

"Harry?" she asked, and when she spoke, a faint Scottish accent tumbled from her lips.

He nodded numbly.

"It's wonderful to see you, honey," she held out her arms for him, and without thinking Harry moved forward, diving into her grip. It was tighter and stronger than he'd expected, but soothing and comfortable, and she smelt faintly of strawberries and the cooking she'd done earlier. She pressed a kiss onto the top of his head as she pulled away.

"Are you Eliza?" he asked before he could stop himself. He held his breath, waiting.

"That's me, darlin', but call me Lizzie, Ari finds it easier," she beamed at him, before grabbing a plate from the counter and setting it on the table. "Are you hungry, Harry? I wasn't sure if you'd eaten before you came so I made extra helpings of breakfast - "

" - if it's not too much trouble," he said shyly, climbing onto the stool and hesitantly taking the knife and fork from her.

"We were thinking about packing a picnic and heading out on the lake," Lizzie continued, moving to stock the rest of the plates into the fridge. "We have a swing and a tree house out there, and if you want to you and the others can muck around in the lake. I'm sure Pip and Luke will do it whether or not you do, so you'll probably get splashed, and it doesn't look like you brought any clothes, so you can borrow some of the ones I have stashed in the attic when we get back."

Harry blinked.

"Sorry," she blushed. "I ramble often."

"More like you never stop," teased a voice in the doorway.

Harry whirled around. Standing in the doorway, a girl with long, burnt golden curls was grinning, a baseball bat stashed underneath her arm. He couldn't tell if her eyes were light brown or green from this distance, and the freckles on her tanned face were faint with the tint of her skin, indicating hours and hours spent outside in the sunshine. She was small for her age, only a little taller than him, and she wasn't thin, but she wasn't large, somewhere in between, and honestly, it suited her.

"Harry, this is Pippa," Lizzie said, fondly ruffling Gem's hair as she walked past. "She's nine." Pippa playfully snapped her teeth at Lizzie as she readjusted her hair, snatching an apple out of the fruit bowl on the table in front of Harry. He watched her as she dropped into the chair opposite him, biting into it with a loud crunch.

" - and Pip promised me that she'd come running with me," sang another voice, and Harry barely had time to look up before Pippa was attacked in a tackle-hug from behind, tanned arms wrapped around her neck and dragging her off the chair.

The boy was tall, broad-shouldered, and tanned skinned. His hair was short and spiked up on the top of his head, shorter around the sides, and his dark brown eyes were playful. Harry immediately came to the conclusion that it was Luke, prankster extraordinaire.

"Bring her back in one piece this time," Lizzie sighed, shaking her head. "And Pip, don't attack him with the crowbar this time."

"He tried to make me do _thirty_ laps!" Pippa huffed, folding his arms.

Harry blinked, wide-eyed.

"It's inhuman," Pippa wailed, and Luke rolled his eyes. He picked her up effortlessly and threw her over his shoulder, jogging out of the door, leaving Ariane giggling behind them.

The door slammed and Jack leaned against it, chuckling under his breath. Harry felt a little more comfortable knowing that Jack was there and observing everything going on, and should he get uncomfortable, he would have someone he trusted; at least more than he trusted the others.

"Where's Luce?" asked Lizzie, drying the suds from the sink off her wrists with the dish cloth. "I thought she was coming up today."

"There's been an emergency with her brother," Jack shrugged sadly. "I tried to convince her to let me go with her, but she knew I was coming here today and told me to come. She said she'll text me, and if she's available later on, she'll come up to see everyone. You know how much she loves spending time with the girls, and she'll never admit it, but she loves the fireflies in the garden."

"Even when they sit on her sandwich?" Lizzie asked playfully, arching an eyebrow.

"Even when they sit on her _favourite_ sandwich," Jack nodded.

Harry felt the urge to laugh, but instead dug into his bacon. He couldn't help the moan of delight escape him, which caught the attention of the both of them, and when he looked back up, Lizzie was beaming at him, pleased with him enjoying her cooking.

"Jack, dear, would you mind waking up Maxie and chasing Mikey and Ed out of the music room?" asked Lizzie as sweetly as she could manage, batting her eyelashes. "I'm thinking of leaving in a bit." Jack nodded and left the room. "And Harry, sweetheart, come and help me pack the lunch, won't you?"

Getting up dutifully, Harry padded over the kitchen floor to the counter, surprised when the marble beneath his feet didn't feel freezing to the touch. He held out his arms for the large picnic basket, and Lizzie handed it to him. She started tucking in sandwich after sandwich, along with a jug of homemade lemonade, slices of cake, several large chocolate bars, a few cans of Coca Cola, and a small wrapper of chocolate chip cookies.

" - Ariane's a chocolate addict, and Pip's going to drink every single can of Coke we have," Lizzie told him fondly, before opening the fridge and all of the cupboards for him to see. "Harry, love, look through the cupboards. If you see anything you want, you can add it to the basket."

"Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly, already spying the treacle tart in the back of the cupboard. "I'd hate to be a bother - "

"Nothing you could possibly do or be in this world would make you a bother, Harry Potter," said the redheaded woman firmly, smiling kindly. "I see you like treacle tart. A girl who used to live here - Leanne - she adored treacle tart, and I keep it in the cupboards out of force of habit. I guess I'll have to start buying it again now, if you're going to be around often."

Harry blinked. "Are you - ?"

"Harry, I want you to think very hard over the next few days," Lizzie suddenly said seriously. She took the basket from him and knelt down in front of him so that she was eye level with him. "I want you to watch my kids and I want you to watch me and I want you to think very hard. I want you to think about whether or not you want to come live here with us."

A lump filled his throat. His eyes stung with tears. His heart felt like it would drop into the pit of his stomach and never emerge.

"I - I - thank you," he muttered, looking away, aggressively wiping away the tears. "I - thank you _so_ , _so_ much - "

"No need, Harry," Lizzie replied softly, and her hand cupped his face while the other combed back his hair. "Know you'll always have a family and a safe place here."

* * *

When he was finally dropped back at Privet Drive at the end of that weekend, he felt empty.

After spending what felt like years in the comfort and warmth of the house, which Luke had affectionately named 'Maggie's Home For Wayward Kids' but wouldn't tell him quite why, Privet Drive felt cold and unfamiliar. After being fed the usual Dursley dinner of bread and butter with a small glass (about a half pint) of water, he was feeling a little empty, cold in the confines of his cupboard (whereas the bed he'd slept in at the house was warm, comfortable, moved with his shifting form and smelt like fresh wildflowers, which Lizzie had said was her favourite washing machine powder), and he itched to be back in the safety of the house.

He wanted to be there. With them.

Harry had been so sure that he wasn't going to fit in there. It had seemed so wonderful in the stories Jack had told him, and when he'd been late he had been so afraid that it wasn't real, that it was just another person in his life there to make him feel horrid about himself. But then the car had shown up, and the house had been real, and he'd still thought that maybe, maybe there was no one inside, that the people within were a figment of Jack's imagination - until the door had opened and there was Ariane, beaming and bouncing, and everything was real.

It was real.

Lizzie was real - with her warmth, how she always seemed to know what he was feeling, what he was thinking, and just how to help him. Jack was real, with his intelligence, his warm hugs and his grin.

Maxie was real, with her sweet smiles, the book she'd tucked herself away in, the way that she was the first one in the water and the last one out of it. Michael was real, with his initially quiet nature, which then evolved into snarky, backhanded compliments and the way he'd been so patient when teaching him how to swim and tread water. Luke was real, when he'd promised to take him on a tour of the manor grounds, when he'd dove straight into the reeds to wrestle with Ed at the first invite. Pippa was real, with her sarcasm and quick wit, her tendency to climb high places, who went swimming for three hours straight and almost skipped lunch.

Ed was real, with his books and his endless knowledge of seemingly everything, and the tendency he had to use that knowledge for nefarious purposes. Ariane was real, with her tight hugs and broad smile, and the stuffed dog that she let him borrow, but only after he promised to bring him back later. Levi was real, independent and headstrong, but funny and quiet, when he'd pushed his leftover sandwiches towards Harry with an offhand comment about how skinny he was. Natalie was real, with her adorable babbling and the strange need he felt almost immediately to protect her, with the way that she'd offered him several of her toys.

He wished he could freeze time in that moment. The first night there - when his stomach was full of warm, delicious food, when Pippa had shared her Coke, when Ariane had bounced off into the dark to hunt down fireflies and tugged him behind her. When Lucy had turned up and Jack's face had lit up like fairylights in the dark, and how she'd offered around s'mores as she made them.

How Lizzie had asked him to live with them.

How much he wanted to say yes.


	4. the truth will out

The creaking of the floorboards outside his bedroom made his teeth grit.

It either met his uncle and aunt were home, drunk as usual, and were going to attempt to beat him shitless again, or someone had broken into the house. He almost hoped it was the latter, because then he'd have the excuse of being surprised if it came down to a fight. But instead of outwardly expressing his whirring thoughts, he kept his features impassive and lowered one hand to brace on the knife he'd tucked into his belt buckle that morning when he'd dressed. His feet made no noise against the unstable flooring as he walked slowly, in a practiced manner, towards the door, and rested a hand on the handle.

His fingers moved so quickly they might not have moved at all. Harry wrenched the door open and lurched forward, tackling the figure and slamming them against the closed bathroom door, holding the knife firmly at their throat, unafraid of drawing the small line of blood against their throat.

But before he could do much more, a hand grasped his elbow - the hand of someone else.

Harry's shoulders jerked and he whirled, twisting the hand of the second person roughly between their shoulder blades, breaking the bone without hesitation, before kicking them roughly in the back of their knees to send them spiralling to the floor; the first person moved back towards him, and he kicked their kneecap firmly, fracturing the bone, and stabbed the knife through their jacket, pinning them to the bathroom door once more.

" - Harry - "

The breath was stolen from his throat as he was grabbed from behind, and without registering the voice or who had spoken, he elevated his foot and planted it firmly in the crotch of the person in front of him, before using the person's doubled body to flip himself over and crush the person behind him with his body weight.

"Potter! Stop it!"

Blinking furiously to shake the scarlet rage from the edge of his vision, Harry turned and finally looked at the people he'd just beaten the shit out of.

Remus Lupin, pinned to the wall with a fractured kneecap, a knife pinning his jacket to the fall, a black eye beginning on his right eye; Nymphadora Tonks, cradling her broken arm and on the floor, white-faced and wide-eyed; Bill Weasley bent at the waist, muttering curses to himself, his hands protecting his bruised crotch; and, finally the most troubling to him, Sirius Black crushed beneath him, gasping for breath.

"At least we know you can protect yourself," Sirius croaked, grinning weakly.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, pushing himself upright and scratching the back of his neck. "Don't surprise me like that."

"Constant Vigilance, Potter!" Mad-Eye Moody grunted in approval, moving forward and clapping him on the shoulder. Harry grabbed his wand and flicked it, mending Tonks' broken arm and the black-eye festering in Lupin's eye, patting Bill on the back before grasping the handle of the knife pinning Lupin to the wall and yanking it free from the broken wood.

"Who taught you that?" asked Tonks, wide-eyed but grinning as she pulled herself upright.

Harry glanced along the upstairs hallway; it was illuminated by the light emitting from the wands of Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle, who were watching him cautiously, and Charlie Weasley, who was grinning at him. Behind him, he could feel the presence of one more person - and he spotted Molly Weasley frowning at him in disapproval. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes - the woman had the absurd urge to control his exposure to things he was more than familiar to, and thought she was capable of and allowed to make decisions for him.

He'd really like to see her do the same to the others.

"Lizzie," he said simply, watching them carefully for a reaction.

Early on in his magical career, he'd made a promise to himself - his family and his fame should never collide. He was supposed to be the Chosen One to these people, however strange the idea of a teenager saving perfectly capable adults was, and should they learn of his rather odd, dangerous family, and how they'd taught him to protect himself early on in his life, and how they were a part of each decision he made, he worried they would lose the faith they had in him.

And then there was the fact that bringing his family to the forefront of the war would put them in danger. Each one of them went to Hogwarts with him, as Natalie was due to start her first year in a matter of weeks' time. Maxie had graduated nearly two years before, and now was nineteen and working tirelessly to get herself into a Curse Breaker program. They were all going to fight for him, he knew that, and he also knew that they would do so with every ounce of deadliness that he did, perhaps even more-so; but he knew that, above all else, that if they did get hurt in the war, if they were major targets, then that would be his fault.

He worried for them.

But now his friends - and most importantly, Sirius - knew that he wasn't the defenceless teenager Dumbledore had done such a wonderful job convincing them that he was, and he had no choice. He couldn't pretend he hadn't said anything, like he could often manage with Ron, and while Hermione was a little suspicious at how many things he said and then didn't recall, she couldn't find a reason to out him for it.

Now he'd done that for himself.

"Who's Lizzie?" asked Hestia quietly, arching an eyebrow. She looked at Dedalus. "Is she an Order member?"

"No," Tonks frowned, folding her arms. "There's only Lizzie Monroe, and since she's about ninety four and the most harm she can do to someone is give them food poisoning with one of her out-of-date chocolate cakes, there's no way in hell that it's her."

"Then who the hell is Lizzie?" Lupin asked curiously, tilting his head.

"Ah," Harry said faintly.

"Leave him alone," Molly huffed, folding his arms. "He's just a boy - give him a moment - "

" - oh shut up, woman," Mad-Eye huffed. "He's clearly capable of taking us all on at once. He can deal with this himself."

Harry grinned. He was tempted to take a picture of the expression crossing Molly's maroon features.

"Now, Potter, who's Lizzie?" Mad-Eye continued firmly.

Harry's grin fell from his face. He'd hoped he could live two lives - the innocent, confused teenager who was thrust with great purpose, and the badass teenager who could take you down without thinking, who could wield more weapons dangerously than he had fingers and toes, who hadn't missed a shot since he was six years old.

But it appeared that very deadliness had gotten him into this situation.

He knew he couldn't shrug it off. They had no idea who this woman was, and he knew that Molly would hang over him like a dark cloud until she knew the truth, and he'd have to come up with something ridiculous to get the woman off his back in the end; he knew that Sirius and Lupin would be extremely suspicious of anyone who came into his life, and that pretty much every adult in the circle of people he knew would be beyond suspicious.

But this was something he'd done.

He wasn't stupid. He couldn't play it off as a slip of the tongue, like he could with Ron and Hermione. He couldn't pretend he hadn't mentioned the others to them, and he couldn't pretend he had no idea what they were talking about. He couldn't avoid the question, now that it had been asked.

"Lizzie's a witch who lives just outside of Little Whinging," he said mildly.

"And she taught you that?" asked Tonks, her eyebrows raised.

"No, the others did," Harry corrected her firmly, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "I'll talk about this later. I'll even tell the truth, if you want. But right now, I want to know what the fuck you're doing here at two o'clock in the morning scaring me and forcing me to beat the hell out of you."

"Language!" Molly snapped, cuffing him on the back of the head.

"You're not my mother," Harry snarled right back at her; she blinked quickly at his tone, one he'd never used to her or around her. "What comes out of my mouth is what I choose. They're literally just words."

"We've come to bring you to headquarters," Lupin nodded to Mad-Eye, who produced an array of broomsticks from the inside of his oversized, dirtied trench coat.

Harry arched his eyebrow. "The headquarters of who?" he asked firmly.

Sirius frowned at Lupin. Harry knew he had never been this distrusting and confrontational before, and he previously would have taken any excuse necessary to get out of Privet Drive, but he had his reasons, and he had things to do that following morning that required free travel between wherever he was and home.

His brain flittered with details of the distressed voices on the other end of the recent phone calls, his own fear and worry clutching at his chest with an unforgiving grip, his heart pounding with possibilities, and the promises he'd made to come home soon.

"We can't tell you here," Mad-Eye grunted, eyeing him with approval. Harry knew that the old Auror would admire the caution the most.

"Then I want you to tell me something else," Harry said firmly. "Wherever I'm going, I need to be able to leave of my own free will. I have other places to be than following you lot around whenever you tell me to."

Sirius frowned. "Don't you want to spend time with your friends?"

"Of course I do," Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. "But I do have a life that I need to keep living here in Little Whinging. I can't just up and leave whenever you need me for something, whenever you want. You have no legal obligation over me, so if you're taking me somewhere without my knowledge of where I'm going, and if you don't allow me to leave when I want to, it's classed as kidnapping, which could prompt your arrest."

"You're threatening to report us to the Auror squad?" asked Dedalus incredulously.

"I never said that," Harry stared at him firmly. "Just as long as we understand each other."

Mad-Eye grinned. "Knew there was a reason I liked ya, Potter," he clapped him on the shoulder again. "But it's not us you need to bargain with. We're here to collect you on the orders of Albus Dumbledore. You can talk to him when he visits next."

"No deal," Harry instantly said. "I need to be somewhere in the morning. Somewhere important."

"Where?" asked Tonks. "Someone will go for you - "

" - this is my life, and I don't care for you people thinking you somehow have authority over me," Harry said coldly. "My legal guardians, whether we like it or not, are Vernon and Petunia Dursley. I'm all for abandoning them here with their awful whale of a son and their small-minded ways, but you're not to pretend like you have anything to do with my decisions or the people I should be with. If I don't have the assurance that I can leave wherever we're going whenever I please, I'll not be going with you. Should you try to take me by force, I can and will stop you, and report you to the Auror squad without a shred of remorse."

"Wherever he's going seems important," Sirius folded his arms. "If Dumbledore wants to stop him, the old coot can deal with him. He's got us trapped in a box."

Harry smirked. "So... can I take it that I'll be allowed to leave in the morning?"

Without waiting for an answer, Harry flicked his wand again, and both his trunks appeared to him, filling itself with everything he would need to stay wherever they were going, and packing his school stuff into the school trunk. Once it was packed, he shrunk both trunks, storing them in his pocket, before sheathing his knife and heading down the stairs.

"I feel sorry for the poor soul who tries to stop him," Tonks muttered quietly to Lupin, rubbing her sore arm.

* * *

When they arrived at Grimmauld Place, Harry arched an eyebrow.

It was largely a muggle neighbourhood and there were no visible wards in the area. The precautions taken were those taken by muggle security companies, and though he could detect a major magical surge coming from directly in front of him, as well as the peculiar lack of number twelve, there was no magical headquarters in sight.

Though it wouldn't be a particularly practical headquarters if it was visible.

He took the parchment Moody handed him without question, reading the words allowed in a clear voice, knowing it must trigger the headquarters to be revealed to him; it was either that or some kind of test, to make sure he was who he said he was, but seeing as the address on the paper was for 'The Order of the Phoenix', which seemed a particularly magical name, he was inclined to go with the first option.

Sure enough, when he lowered the parchment and Mad-Eye tucked it back into his trench coat, the houses eleven and thirteen moved apart from each other, revealing a house between them - number twelve.

Harry masked his surprise and awe easily, and instead marched without thought up the staircase, opening the door and walking inside without barrier.

He could feel the weight of the surprised gazes behind him on his back and smirked to himself.

The moment that the others were in behind him, he found himself being tackled, and before he had much of a chance to trigger his defences, he spotted the head of bushy hair clouding his vision and he relaxed into her embrace, wrapping his arms around her waist and hoisting her into his grip, lifting her clear off the floor and swinging her in a broad circle.

Hermione let out a shriek as he swung her, and when she was on her feet, her face was flushed scarlet and she was grinning widely.

"You've never done _that_ before!" Ron laughed, reaching for and hugging Harry tightly.

"That's new, mate!" Fred crowed, smirking at him. George was wiggling his eyebrows.

"He's gotten stronger," Hermione nodded, still blushing. "Are you hungry, Harry? Ginny and I made you something to eat. We didn't think the Dursleys would have fed you particularly well since we last saw you."

"That'd be great," Harry nodded, and Ginny latched onto his wrist, tugging him into what seemed to be the kitchen, towing him into a seat at the long, broad table and presenting him with a plate of sandwiches that all looked elaborately made, complete with some of his favourite foods.

"And while you're eating, you can tell us who Lizzie and 'the others' are," Sirius planted his hands on the table, looking at him firmly.

Harry arched his eyebrow, taking a bite of a sandwich that looked like ham and cheese.

The staring contest that ensued twisted his stomach, and he sighed, pulling one of his trunks from his pocket. He set it on the floor and tapped it twice with his wand, before getting up and beginning to search through the now-enlarged trunk, muttering to himself.

"You might as well call everyone in here," he said mildly, pulling out a photograph album from one of the pockets. "I'm only saying this once."


	5. solemnly swear

" - you're scared of leaving them."

Harry looked up, eyes wide, to see Jack standing in the doorway; it had been three weeks since his chance meeting with Jack and despite his eagerness to visit as much as he could, he couldn't find it in him to let himself be alone with Eliza. He knew that she'd ask him if he wanted to stay with her, if he wanted the spare room he lived in - she'd mentioned offhandedly while Luke and Pippa were in the room that the spare room was in dire need of redecorating, and that she'd have to ask him if he had any ideas. He'd remained quiet for a while after that, and Eliza seemed to understand that he didn't want to speak with her quiet yet - because she had no idea if he'd even made a decision or not, or that he was quite ready to tell her. She respected that he needed his distance until he was prepared to tell her what he needed to.

This was the first time that he would be alone with anyone, actually, since his first visit.

It was Saturday night, which meant that the evening had been spent out on the decking, lit densely with fairylights strung up across each fence and table-top; out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the silhouette of Luke, Ed and Pippa, who were mucking around in the shallows of the lake; he could hear the sounds of the intense chess game between Maxie and Michael, the muttered insults and the hushed swearing (which, although he was no stranger to it, surprised him a little).

Eliza was sat in the waist-length grass near the edge of the lake where the trio were messing around, with Ariane at her side, a picture book in her lap and a baby monitor tucked into the corner of the tray that harboured the leftovers of that night's barbeque.

"Harry."

He swallowed, looking back down at the edge of the water. Pippa shoved Ed's shoulder hard, sending him spiralling face-first into the water, letting out a loud guffaw; Eliza called out a warning to them both.

"Y-yeah?" he managed to say weakly in return.

"My mother was abusive," Jack said almost absently, not looking at him either. Harry was grateful for it - it was almost easier if he didn't have to stare into the intense and unbearable warmth and understanding lurking in the depths of his blue eyes.

"She was?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Yes," Jack nodded slowly, still watching as Luke hoisted Pippa into his arms and tossed her further out into the water. "I was raised mostly by my father. He was a brilliant father, and a wonderful husband, but he wasn't good enough for her - neither was I. My little sister was, but only when she kept her mouth shut. Mum seemed to forget that she had a voice, too. Told her to shut up and look pretty. I used to hate her for that, for pushing Bea around. I miss her, my sister. I miss her a lot, but I know that she's happy with her adoptive parents. Happier than she ever was with us."

"W-what happened? How did - how did you get out?"

Jack swallowed. "Dad."

A moment's silence paused. Harry found the strength to tear his eyes away from the fly hovering just above a light beside his finger to stare right at Jack.

"He gave up everything, _everything_ , for us. Mum was always a little off, always an alcoholic, always verbally abusive. She'd spend Dad's money without a thought, never worked a day in her life. She didn't kiss us goodbye in the mornings before school, never packed us lunch, never picked us up from school, never hugged us, never asked us 'how was your day?' or read us stories at night. She wasn't a mother, really. Or she didn't deserve to be one."

Jack shook his head, a wry, sarcastic grin lifting his lips. "Dad had enough when I was eighteen, about eleven or so years ago. He told Mum that we were leaving, and he'd be sending the lawyer 'round with the divorce papers, and that she was nowhere near good enough to have any sort of visitation with me or Bea. And she snapped. She called the police with some unfounded claims, told them stuff like he was abusive, spent all their money on alcohol, told them that he hit her and shouted at her and she was terrified of him. They didn't buy it."

"Then - then what was the problem?" Harry asked, barely believing he'd dare to.

"He was convicted of child endangerment," Jack replied, lips thinning. "Social workers thought he hadn't done enough to protect us. Mum was jailed for abuse and they divorced while in jail. He'll be out about four years from now, and she'll be another twenty years. Bea was put into foster care, and then adopted, and I - I was eighteen. I was old enough to look after myself. And I was homeless for a while. I'll admit that, I'm not ashamed of it. I was at the time. I didn't tell anyone that I needed help, I wouldn't ask for money or for food because I thought if I admitted to someone that it was happening, then it would become real somehow.

"And then I saw Eliza for the first time, and she changed everything for me, and for Maxie, Mikey, Luke, Pip, Ed, Ari, Levi, Nat... and she can change everything for you, if you let her."

Harry swallowed.

"How - I just," he stammered. He didn't really know what he was trying to say. "Thanks, Jack, for - for uh, telling me that."

"You're welcome, kid," Jack said quietly, turning his gaze back to Eliza in time to see her stand up, staring at them in worry and concern. "You're welcome."

* * *

Harry stopped short of entering the kitchen. It was past curfew, which was technically a grown-up word for bedtime that Luke wouldn't fight as much, and that meant that no one younger than fifteen was supposed to be awake or out of their bedroom; he knew that Maxie was awake, reading the school books that Jack and his girlfriend Lucy had taken her out to get earlier that day, because her light was still on, a faint golden glow through the crack of the bottom of the door, bathing the downstairs hallway in that warm light. The floor was still warm when he padded into the kitchen, fidgeting with the hem of Michael's shirt he'd been sleeping in.

"Levi, I told you to go to bed - "

Eliza stared at him. "Harry, are you alright, sweetheart?" she asked quietly, reaching over and cupping his face with one soft hand. His lower lip quivered embarrassingly at how utterly _maternal_ the touch felt.

"I - I want to stay but I'm afraid," he breathed out sharply through his nose. "I - I want to live here, with you, but U-Uncle Vernon - "

"Your uncle is a nasty piece of work and a very scary man," Eliza said fiercely, staring at him with such warmth his heart swelled. "I understand that you're afraid. A lot of children I've taken care of are afraid at first. You're one of the bravest I've ever met, Harry, having visited as much as you have - and I want you to know that you are one of us, that you have a family here, and we love you very much. And your uncle, nasty or not, scary or not, won't get within a mile of you here, I promise."

"You promise?" he asked, eyes wide.

His voice cracked embarrassingly.

"I solemnly swear," she said, with a sad sort of smile.

Harry nodded, eyes watering. "I-I love you too, Liza," he mutters, looking away, desperately searching for an excuse for the tears now making their way down his face.

"C'mere, sweetheart, we'll get you off to bed," Eliza said softly, taking his hand. "And we can talk about it in the morning. It's late, and we have a big day tomorrow - we're headed off into the village tomorrow morning."


End file.
